


Laphroaig 30

by muzivitch



Category: Watchmen (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-23
Updated: 2009-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:24:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muzivitch/pseuds/muzivitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p> Stage #5 from <a href="http://stagesoflove.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://stagesoflove.livejournal.com/"><b>stagesoflove</b></a></p>
    </blockquote>





	Laphroaig 30

**Author's Note:**

>  Stage #5 from [](http://stagesoflove.livejournal.com/profile)[**stagesoflove**](http://stagesoflove.livejournal.com/)

_**[Fic] Laphroaig 30 | Watchmen, VeidtOwl. G.**_  
Title: Laphroaig 30  
Author: [](http://muzivitch.livejournal.com/profile)[ **muzivitch**](http://muzivitch.livejournal.com/)  
Series: Watchmen  
Pairing: Nite Owl II/Ozymandias  
Rating: G  
Length: 591 words  
Note: Stage #5 from [](http://stagesoflove.livejournal.com/profile)[**stagesoflove**](http://stagesoflove.livejournal.com/)

They knew each other, Peter thought as he mixed a Manhattan for the sleek brunette at the end of the polished walnut bar. The tweedy nerd in the thick tortoiseshell glasses and the slender blond - Adrian Veidt, he thought, though he'd been pretending all night that he didn't know who it was - they knew each other, and they were sitting next to each other, but they weren't saying a word. It was downright _weird_.

He approached slowly, running his finger under the edge of his crisp white collar before clearing his throat. Mr. Veidt lifted his head, gemstone-green eyes pinning him, and Peter felt himself flush from his hairline straight down his neck. He wallowed. "I was wondering if you'd like more scotch." He flicked his gaze towards the other man, whose blue eyes were somehow ten times less terrifying than Adrian Veidt's green ones.

"That would be lovely," Mr. Veidt said, as if he were at a cocktail party and Peter was his host, not his bartender.

"Please," the other man said, quietly, and Peter silently poured them each three fingers before stepping back, fading back, and surreptiously watching the two men.

There was more silence (he hadn't really expected otherwise) as Mr. Veidt sat neatly on the leather stool, his back razor straight and his expression set in what Peter's mother called the company face - pleasant, charming, completely unreadable. His friend leaned his elbow on the bar, swirling the deep amber scotch in his glass in between careful slips. He didn't look happy, Peter thought. He didn't really look _unhappy_ either, just like he'd...decided to do something, and there was no shaking him from it now.

"Dan," Mr. Veidt said, quietly. His hands tightened almost imperceptibly on his glass for a moment, and he took a drink before he spoke again. If it had been any other man in New York, Peter thought, he would have said that he was fortifying himself, covering for his nerves. But this was Adrian Veidt, and the idea that he was _nervous_ was...well, it was kind of ridiculous.

He couldn't quite shake the notion, though.

"Are you planning to speak to me again?" Mr. Veidt continued once he'd taken a sip and set his lowball down again.

The other man - Dan, Peter told himself - he turned his head and looked at Mr. Veidt, and Peter had a feeling that those softer, kinder blue eyes were pinning Mr. Veidt just as much as Mr. Veidt's had pinned _him_ just a few minutes before. "Yeah," he finally said with a slow half-smile. "I am, Adrian."

Mr. Veidt's lips curved in response. "Good," he murmured. "I'm glad, Dan."

Peter slipped away as a patron signaled him from the other end of the bar, but he glanced over his shoulder before starting to mix the requested martini. They were talking now, he noted, words were flying between them now that the silence had been broken, and both of their expressions were lighter now. Relaxed, the tension that had been palpable between them was gone.

That was his favorite part of tending bar, For the most part, he thought as he pushed the glass across the bar and palmed the bill the patron handed him. For the most part it was just mixing and pouring and smiling enough to get enough tips to cover rent, but sometimes...sometimes, Peter thought as he glanced down the bar at Mr. Veidt and Dan, you felt like you were facilitating something.

Those were the good nights.


End file.
